


In My Veins

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha Keith (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Childhood Friends, First Time, Galra Keith (Voltron), Knotting, M/M, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Orgasms, Omega Shiro (Voltron), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Reunions, Top Keith (Voltron), Virgin Keith (Voltron), Virgin Shiro (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-26 23:18:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21108818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: Since leaving Earth to form Voltron and protect the universe, Shiro thinks he's lost all desire or ability to go into heat. The arena killed it inside him, maybe. Or space just broke him. It's been rather convenient, actually: Shiro doesn't need anyone to take care of him and he can't afford to be incapacitated in the middle of a war.But then Shiro reunites with his long-lost childhood best friend, Keith.





	In My Veins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [paokous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paokous/gifts).

> Request fic written for [Kou](https://twitter.com/paokous), who asked for omegaverse sheith with omega Shiro, childhood best friends reuniting, and Galra Alpha Keith. ♥ 
> 
> I've never written omegaverse before (or even read it before sheith) so it was a fun challenge to write. If anything seems off from normal tropes, know it's trope subversion and totallllllly not that I have no idea what the standard tropes are lol. 
> 
> Thank you to [Ash](https://twitter.com/tinyginger1519) and [Ils](https://twitter.com/justsayins) to reading this over for me!

Sometimes, while in an endless sea of space and stars, Shiro stands on the observation deck of the Castle of Lions and still can’t believe he’s _here. _

He remembers being a little boy in the desert, staring up at the night sky while his best friend laid in the sand beside him, just as captivated. Back then, they’d both point out constellations and imagine the worlds they’d someday get to explore together. 

The memory always pulls a small smile from Shiro, thinking about sleepovers with Keith, trying to stay up late enough to watch the new constellations crawl across the sky, to mark their time together by moonrise and moonset. 

It was always nice, then. Everything about Keith was comforting— his scent, his presence, even the tiny growls he’d aim at the night-lizards just because it made Shiro laugh to see them scurry away so quickly. Draped beneath the velvet night of the stars, Keith by his side, Shiro always felt like he could do anything. 

Too long ago now. His hand lifts, folding absently over the nape of his neck, his fingertips ghosting over a near-invisible mark, the one last connection he has to that long-lost best friend. 

It’s a gesture he doesn’t even think about now. Any time he’s sad, any time he’s nervous, any time he’s anxious— his hand covers the back of his neck, touches the mark Keith left on him, and things are a little easier. It’s almost like having Keith there with him.

Almost.

His hand rests on his neck and he wonders where Keith is now. It’s not the first time he’s thought it since he and Keith parted ways. It’s not even the first time he’s thought it while standing on the observation deck. 

But he has too much to focus on. There is, after all, a war going on. He might be delighted to be exploring the stars in a way he never thought he would, but it’s come at the cost of peace of mind— he’s a soldier now, not an explorer. And that, in the end, will always make him feel a deep loss he can’t put into words. Everything that’s been left behind. 

He’s the leader of Voltron, the Black Paladin. He can’t afford to show that sort of weakness. It’s easy enough to pack away everything he needs to— to look out over their cosmic backyard (a yawning nebula in the distance, a hiccupping quasar, a smattering of distant stars) and know that there’s still work to be done. 

As if summoned by the thought, his communicator buzzes to life and Coran announces, “The Blade of Marmora are on their way, Number One.” 

Shiro takes one last look at the stars, something like longing blooming inside him, then drops his hand. He takes a deep breath and then turns away, retreating into the castleship’s hallways. 

-

The alliance with the Blade of Marmora is a big win for the Coalition’s efforts. Shiro fought tooth and nail to get it to happen and it’s been worth the heartache and stress: after finding the Blade in the center of two black holes, and vargas of negotiation, Commander Kolivan and a conglomerate of Blades are on their way to set up shop in the castle, to start the new joint venture. Shiro knows it’s going to be a big difference in their fight against Zarkon. 

Pidge’s computer gives a decisive chirp just as Shiro enters the main room. The other Paladins are still gathering, some still on their way to join the group. Pidge navigates the Blade flyers, helping coordinate the docking in the castleship’s hangar. Hunk and Lance enter behind Shiro and Lance wastes no time in hovering behind Pidge’s shoulder, peering at her lines of code. 

“They’re docking,” Pidge announces. 

“You think they’re gonna like… meow at us as a ‘hello’? Will it be rude if we don’t meow back?” Lance asks— trying to read over Pidge’s shoulder as she works but looking a strange mix of serious and perplexed at once.

“The Galra aren’t actually cats,” Pidge protests with a roll of her eyes. “A lot of them are kinda lizard-y, you know.” 

Ulaz definitely was, Shiro thinks with a mournful little pang in his gut, though his expression stays the same, cool and collected— he can’t afford any sort of weakness, much less in front of his team. They all depend on him; he can’t let any moment of doubt show through. He knows if the others pay close attention, they might be able to note the difference in his scent— the sour spike of anxiety, the bitter pang of regret. 

“Can’t wait for the ship to be crawling with weird lizard-cat alphas,” Hunk mutters, looking a bit pale at the prospect as he looks over Pidge’s code, too. They’re all focused enough that if Shiro’s scent has changed, they haven’t noticed yet. 

Shiro takes a deep, steadying breath, ignoring the strange mixture of different scents and emotions, and moves to stand beside Allura. Pidge finishes sending the coordinates to the Blade delegation and Allura watches it all, silent, her arms folded protectively over her chest, hands gripping the plates of her red paladin armor. 

She’s distressed. She’s hardly made a secret about her distrust and hatred of the Galra, after all. Welcoming them onto her ship is hardly a triumph, Shiro imagines. 

There’s a familiar, ancient instinct twisting up inside him, seeing her expression— an omega is meant to nurture and soothe. Everything inside him screams for him to help her, to smooth away her worried expression, to make her look less tensed, aura less spiky. It’s always been Shiro’s nature to find diplomacy where he can, to fight when he must, but to always offer comfort and support. 

Not that any of the others _know_ that he’s an omega— not really. If anything, it’s a bit of an open secret; it’s not really something they talk about. 

There’s too much else to focus on out here and it’s hardly been relevant. He had suppressants back home, enough so it was never an issue at the Garrison. And out in space? Well, he thinks maybe space might have broken him. The arena. The experiments. The time dilation. The stress. He doesn’t know. 

He hasn’t gone into heat. The arena killed any desire in him, he thinks. In the entire year he was fighting for his life, he never had a heat. At least, he doesn’t think so— his memories of his captivity are still fuzzy at best. At the very least, he hasn’t had one since joining Voltron, either. Shiro doubts he’ll ever go into heat again. 

“Allura,” he prompts, gently, when Pidge announces the Blade of Marmora are en route. 

She shifts, looking down and releasing a long-held breath. When she looks back up to Shiro, she looks less angry and more worried instead, her mouth etched into a deep frown. Shiro’s mindful not to inhale too deeply, but Allura isn’t even trying to disguise her displeased scent. 

“Are you quite sure about this, Shiro?” she asks. 

“I’m sure,” Shiro answers, immediately, if not sympathetically. 

He knows Allura’s justified in her distrust of the Galra, after everything she’s been through. But he can’t let that stop them. They have to do everything they can, for the sake of the universe. 

Which is why he steps forward with a smile when Kolivan and his team arrive and enter the room with a soft sigh of the main doors. Shiro offers his hand to Kolivan and they clasp one another’s arms in a traditional Galran greeting. It’s the second time they’ve met, and while Shiro can’t exactly call Kolivan _friendly_, he treats Shiro with the warrior’s grace. 

“Me—_ow!_” Lance gasps behind Shiro when Hunk elbows him swiftly, cutting off his attempt at a greeting. Kolivan stoically ignores them, his eyes on Shiro. 

Then, Kolivan turns and introduces the rest of his team— Antok, who Shiro’s already met, Regris, and Yorak. Shiro goes down the line, clasping arms with each. 

Yorak is short. It’s the first thing Shiro thinks as he steps in front of him and offers his hand. It’s noteworthy: Shiro’s used to being the short one when in a group of Galra, a rarity he doesn’t usually face on Earth. But Yorak is slim, willowy and graceful rather than towering. 

He thinks he sees Yorak’s shoulders tense, and Shiro wonders if, somehow, his scent’s given away his surprise— if, somehow, he’s broadcasted the thought and insulted Yorak. But he can’t read anything in his face while he’s wearing the mask. 

Yorak hesitates before he takes Shiro’s arm, grasping with a bold, firm grip, his fingers tucking into the well of Shiro’s elbow. It’s almost casual, almost intimate, the way his fingers settle between the network of veins, the whisper thump of his blood. 

Shiro doesn’t know why the touch makes him shiver, layers of fabric separating contact. But he feels it ripple down his spine. 

“Shiro?” Yorak murmurs, his voice modulated through his mask but still sounding a little wondering. 

Shiro smiles at him, politely. “Yes, that’s right. Nice to meet you.” 

As Yorak stares at him, Shiro thinks the back of his neck starts to burn. 

It’s a feeling he’s never felt before— not like a sunburn, but like a sting, like a swelling of recognition. It persists even once he releases Yorak’s arm and takes a step back. His hand lifts, touching his mark; it neither relieves nor furthers the sensation. 

Shiro lets himself frown for a moment, thinking it over, and then quashes the concern down; there’s still work to be done. He turns to speak with Kolivan and introduces each of the Paladins but hears Yorak suck in a sharp breath behind him. Self-consciously, Shiro touches the back of his neck, his fingers brushing against the burning mark. He feels heat slide through him, warm— almost uncomfortable. Like standing in the sun for too long while wearing a winter coat. 

He can’t shake the feeling that Yorak’s staring at his mark. It burns beneath Shiro’s fingertips and keeps burning even once he drops his hand away. When he dares to glance back at Yorak, though, he can’t tell where he’s looking behind his mask. 

“I’ll show you all to your quarters,” Shiro tells Kolivan, focusing his attention. Warmth still coils through him, like liquid fire— but he’s always been good at ignoring things that aren’t convenient. “We can reconvene at 0200 vargas with the infiltration mission.” 

-

Several vargas later, Shiro finds Yorak on the observation deck. Shiro didn’t go seeking him out, and he’s sure the surprise must show on his face when he steps through the doorway and sees someone already there. He’s used to having this space to himself. 

He schools his expression back into something more neutral as he approaches, smiling when the Blade turns a little, not quite facing him but clearly aware of his approach. 

“It’s a nice view, isn’t it?” Shiro asks. 

Yorak turns towards him fully. He has his hood up, but his mask is down. His eyes are big and wide— such a deep, dark purple. Shiro thinks he understands the sentiment of the Galra being cat-like, with the slit pupils and yellow sclera. Yorak’s eyes are arresting and Shiro nearly loses his footing, stuck staring at them. 

They look familiar. 

An ache erupts inside Shiro’s chest as he takes in Yorak’s expression. Everything about him, not just the eyes, seems painfully familiar— a face he should recognize, almost recognizes, but can’t quite place. 

Yorak’s eyes are as deep and dark as the cosmos behind him, his hair an ink spill inside his hood, framing his face. His face is angular, devastating cheekbones and just the whisper of fangs peeking out between his teeth. 

Shiro knows he’s staring. But he struggles to place Yorak in his memories— wonders if he remembers him through the shroud of his suppressed memories of the arena, if perhaps Ulaz didn’t act alone back then. Perhaps Shiro saw his face in a crowd. Perhaps he was a prisoner, a fighter. Perhaps it was just someone who looked like Yorak.

Maybe he saw Yorak once in a dream. If Shiro let himself believe in such things. 

His mark burns again and Shiro’s heart give a dull thud in his chest, his entire body feeling warm, a tingling sensation that leaves Shiro wanting to curl his toes and just luxuriate in the feeling. Warmth coils in his belly, blooming outward, flushing his entire being with heat. 

Shiro doesn’t let it show on his face. He blinks and then smiles politely. But Yorak stares at him, lips parting as if about to speak before clamping them shut again. 

He’s handsome, Shiro thinks absently— the thought arrives as something of a surprise. But there’s no denying that Yorak is pretty, with the gentle curve of his hair, his striking eyes, the flush of his purple cheeks and the dual stripes cutting across them. Shiro’s not sure if he’s ever really noticed that in someone before— how beautiful a man can be. 

Shiro’s used to setting those thoughts aside. He’s been on suppressants for a long time. And even beyond that, he’s learned not to pay too close attention to anybody. Too many people look at him and expect an alpha. It’s better not to go through the headache of explaining, and the inevitable disappointment. Enough other omegas had approached him during his time at the Galaxy Garrison before they got a good whiff of his scent. 

He studies Yorak’s face long enough that Yorak’s gaze flickers away, embarrassment flushing his cheeks. Shiro smiles apologetically and turns his attention back towards the stars. 

It still niggles at the back of his mind, though. He’s seen Yorak before, but he doesn’t know where. 

Shiro feels a little overwarm in his casualwear, his body flushed as he gazes at the stars. The air in the observation room must not be circulating well enough, he thinks, or it’s just the heat of embarrassment burning his cheeks. 

They’ve gone too long without speaking, so Shiro’s sure that Yorak will simply ignore him. But Yorak surprises him. 

“They _are_ nice,” Yorak says, quietly, picking up that offered thread. “The stars.” Without his mask to modulate his voice, it comes out soft and strangely deep, almost gravely. It’s a pleasant sound. 

“I think so, too,” Shiro agrees, staring at the distant nebula with a small smile. “I like coming here to relax.” 

It’s a small thing, something anyone would say, but it feels like an admission. Shiro’s not sure what it is about Yorak that prompts Shiro to say it. The idea that he could be swayed merely by a pretty face is too foolish a thought. 

He wonders what Yorak sees, staring at him. He wonders why he just keeps staring. 

They fall back into silence together, just watching the stars. Shiro doesn’t feel uncomfortable, though. There’s something almost nostalgic about it, standing there with someone. It makes Shiro smile and then, softly, laugh. 

“What?” Yorak asks.

“No, it’s nothing. I just… I was thinking of someone I used to know.” 

Keith. Yes, that’s it. Yorak reminds him of Keith. 

He wonders if it’s always going to be like that. If, no matter where in the universe he is, he’s always going to be searching for Keith in the people he meets. He can find Keith in any of the people he’s met in space. 

Yorak makes a noise, his brow scrunching in confusion— another thing that feels achingly familiar. Warmth floods Shiro’s belly and he feels his cheeks flush a pleasant pink as, his attention on the cosmic sky. 

Shiro inhales slowly, deeply, and lets his breath back out again in a sigh. He can’t deny he’s feeling a little warm now, a warmth that goes beyond the controlled climate of the castleship. He’s aware of all the smells on the castle, too— the Blade are made up mostly of alphas, it seems. It’s hard to tell, mostly because their suits disguise their scents— hard to be a secret, covert organization if your scent’s going to give you away during a mission. 

Really, what’s remarkable to Shiro is that there can be a universal constant like alphas and omegas. The Alteans have something similar too, but with different terms. 

Shiro feels the rumble of the ship beneath his feet. Coran and Allura are changing course, pointing the castle towards their rendezvous point with the S’baru moon to initiate a covert operation to dismantle Galran shipping manifests. It’s hardly the stuff of legends, but it’ll make a difference in undermining the Empire. 

Yorak subtly shifts beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Yorak steel himself, standing up a little straighter. He thinks Yorak might be looking at him, studying him. Then, he inhales deep and slow. 

Shiro realizes with a blink of surprise that Yorak is scenting him. 

“Um,” Shiro says, politely but pointedly. He can’t recall the last time someone purposefully scented him. 

Yorak freezes, caught in the act of something so private. Shiro turns to look at him, perplexed, but Yorak looks cornered. Shiro feels the heat rising anew in his cheeks. 

Yorak stares at him, his face going a strange mix between purple and red, and then he ducks his head. His shoulders bunch up and, Shiro thinks, he trembles before he rights himself. 

That, too, seems achingly familiar. 

Shiro’s about to ask— about to consider something that he knows is impossible— but Yorak turns on his heel and flees, leaving Shiro alone on the observation deck. He moves so quickly. He’s there and then he’s gone, a shadow slipping into the night. 

That is, after all, the Blade of Mamora’s way. 

Shiro watches him go, a fire growing in his belly. 

-

En route to S’baru, about midway through the castle’s night-cycle, Shiro wakes up panting. He stares up at his ceiling, flushed with heat. He’s kicked off his covers in the night and now he feels empty, exposed. He crawls down the length of his bed and clutches helplessly at his blankets, trying to stack them around him. 

He slips out of bed and grabs at his spare clothes, stacking them up against the wall. He’s halfway through constructing a fabric wall before he realizes what he’s doing. 

He’s fucking nesting. 

He freezes instantly, hands pressed to the wall, body taut with some sort of instinctual fear. He gulps down air, feeling too breathless no matter how deeply he tries to focus on inhaling and exhaling in gentle, soothing pulls. His heart hammers away in his chest and he feels warm all over. 

He can’t remember the last time he felt the urge to nest, much less started doing it before even realizing he was doing so. Even now, his hands itch to keep constructing, to build himself a den and hide, protect himself, call his mate back to him. 

With a sinking realization, Shiro knows that he’s getting his first heat in years. 

He’s not in the deepest throes of it yet, more in the pre-heat stages, but it’s only a matter of time. Shiro feels his body start to tremble. He hasn’t had a heat in _years_. He has no idea what’s triggered it now, only knows that he can’t afford to be in such a state. If someone attacks the castle, if someone needs Voltron—

Fuck, he’s supposed to be leading the joint Voltron-Blade effort. He can’t _afford_ to be out of his mind with a heat sickness. 

It’s the worst possible timing, and with no possible way to alleviate it, Shiro knows it’s going to be a long few days. His heats were always terrible— lasting days and leaving him wasted and bereft in their wake; without a mate, but marked, there was never any relief. His last heat lasted a week— and was the reason he finally went on suppressants. 

His memories of his last heat are distant, long ago now. All he remembers is how awful it was. How empty he felt. How abandoned. 

_It wasn’t Keith’s fault,_ he reminds himself, his hand flying up to cover the mark on his neck. It burns beneath his palm. He’s never blamed Keith. It’ll never be Keith’s fault. He didn’t know what he was doing, that night he left Shiro marked. Neither of them knew. 

His clothes feel too constricting, clinging to his sweaty body. He’s still trembling, hands shaking as he stacks his pillows and then restacks them over and over again. It’s not a safe place to nest, he knows. He doesn’t know if the castle walls mask scents for the occupants, doesn’t know if he’s just leeching pheromones out to a ship full of alphas or if he can get on with suffering in silence. Neither option is going to be great. But the last thing he needs is some alphas sniffing outside his door looking to mount him. 

He hates to think of himself deep in the heat-madness and not caring about a random alpha taking advantage of him. His hands tremble so hard that he drops the pillow he’s holding. He clenches them into fists, closing his eyes and trying to calm down. 

Shiro tries to imagine stumbling his way out of his room and finding Coran, knocking until he wakes him up, and asking if he has— _tools_ to deal with a heat. He’s pretty sure he’d never be able to look Coran in the eye again. But he’s not sure who else he could ask. Definitely not Allura and definitely not the Paladins. 

He presses his face into the pillow with a groan, his body arching, his hips lifting. He’s presenting himself to an invisible partner, something instinctual in the movement— he’s aware, suddenly, of how wet he already is, how his slick is pooling. He’ll drip through his clothes soon. He groans louder into the pillow, wriggling his hips in the air, legs spreading. 

“Fuck,” Shiro whispers and shoves his hand down his sleep pants. He fists around his cock, already hard and dripping, and gives himself a few short pumps. Heat floods through him, but there’s no relief in the touch. Desire builds, but even as he jerks himself off, he knows he won’t find any relief. 

One knee hitches up higher on the bed, exposing himself further. He ruts into his hand, gulping down a gasping, desperate breath. 

He gives a little cry when he shoves his fingers inside his slick hole without preamble. There’s no relief in that, either. He feels empty. It’s not a cock, _it’s not an alpha._ He’s bereft, his body painfully aware of absence. He’s empty. He’s so empty.

He whimpers, pumping his fingers in and out of his body, desperately chasing pleasure and relief. His thighs tremble. It’s not an alpha’s cock. 

He fucks himself with his fingers, seeking his prostate. He strokes into himself with as much focus as he can manage, his mind going fuzzy as the heat flushes through him. Touching himself is only accelerating it. If he weren’t already so eager for touch, he’d be ashamed of how quickly he gave into it. But he can’t find any relief. It’s no good when it’s just himself, alone. No mate. His mate, his alpha, isn’t here. 

Shiro pulls his fingers out of himself with a whimpering hiss of a sigh. 

“Fuck,” Shiro whispers again, yanking his pants back up with a trembling hand, cock hard and beaded with precome. He can already feel the flirting edge of mindlessness, the danger of heat sickness— he can’t afford to lose himself entirely, to just be a weeping, sobbing mess, shoving himself onto any alpha that sniffs close enough. 

He swipes his arm over his forehead, clearing away the sweat. He tries to take a slow, steadying breath. Maybe, if he really focuses, he can get himself to meditate, or do push-ups, or whatever other mindfulness tool he’s used over the years for his own focus. He can work his way through this heat. He’ll be okay. 

And then there’s a knock at his door. It’s soft, hesitant, so quiet that Shiro thinks he must have mistaken the sound. 

Shiro freezes and then whips his head around towards the door. 

He sucks in a sharp breath, but there’s no scent of the person outside. He’s sure he must reek, though— leaking pheromones all through the ship, broadcasting what’s happening to him. _Begging_ for someone to come knot him. 

Shiro’s throat feels tight as he forces himself to breathe. 

He should ignore the knock. He should hide. His nest isn’t complete. He’s alone. His mate isn’t here. Anxiety twists up in his gut, instinctive and evolutionary. It’s a fear that isn’t his, but a product of his nature— he needs to hide. He needs to find his alpha. 

The knock comes again, louder this time. 

“Shiro?” someone calls. 

Trembling, Shiro gets to his feet. He should hide. He should ignore it. 

And yet, his body isn’t listening. Shiro takes a step forward, and then another, and then he’s walking towards the door. 

He knows he’ll look a sight— obviously hard in his sweatpants, his tank top clinging to his chest, sweaty and hair pressed to his forehead. His slick runs down his thighs, dripping in earnest now that _someone is here._

The door snicks open with a soft sigh when Shiro keys in the code. Yorak stands in the hallway, eyes wide as he looks up at Shiro. Shiro watches him inhale, watches his eyes widen further, as he’s hit with the overwhelming scent of Shiro and his heat. 

He’s wearing his casual clothes, too. It makes him look gentler at the edges, somehow. And, of course, it doesn’t disguise his scent the way the Blades uniform does. 

Shiro inhales sharply, hit with the steady, strong scent of _alpha._ Yorak is an alpha, clearly called here by the scent of Shiro’s heat. 

If possible, Shiro thinks he gets wetter. He swallows, staring at Yorak. 

“You…” Shiro begins, taking a step back. “You shouldn’t be here.” 

Yorak stares back at him, pupils blown wide and darkness in his eyes. He takes a step in after Shiro but hesitates just on the threshold. He takes one look at Shiro’s bed, the pathetic nest, and then turns his gaze back towards Shiro— no pity in his eyes, but something deeply sympathetic. Almost needy. 

“I can smell you,” Yorak croaks, voice even gravellier than before. “You’re in heat.” 

“Yorak,” Shiro says, calmly, forcing himself into a bland smile even while everything inside him screams to get fucked, screams to bare his neck, to strip down and lay worship to Yorak’s body with his tongue— _Alpha, Alpha, Alpha—_

He can resist as much. He’s always taken care of himself. It’s always been just him, only him. He can take care of himself now, too.

“Yorak,” he says again, trying to keep his voice even. “I’m alright. You should go back to your room.” 

Yorak stares at him. Shiro bites back a pathetic, needy whimper. His gut squirms, desire and need and pleasure and _alpha._ His heat sickness swells inside him, threatening to take over. 

“I can help you,” Yorak insists. 

Shiro bites the inside of his cheek. He wants to protest it. He doesn’t need help. He’s never needed help. 

Yorak steps closer, hesitating before he reaches out. Shiro nearly flinches, nearly whines, but Yorak only touches his arms, hands resting lightly. It’s profoundly calming, just that simple touch alone. 

“Wait here,” Yorak insists and then turns. He moves swift and soft as night, there and gone like a shadow. Shiro blinks and, in Yorak’s absence, grieves— empty, abandoned. 

Shiro trembles, his heart all twisted up in his chest. The mark on the back of his neck burns and he digs his fingernails tight against the nape of his neck, clinging to himself. He retreats to his pathetic nest and curls up in it, trembling, body slick and ready to be used, ready to be fucked. But his mate isn’t here. No alpha. Nothing. 

He bites his lip to hold back his stupid whimper. His body is screaming, desire and _need._ He can’t think straight. He curls into himself, pressing his face against his knees, his cock hard, his hole slick, and his heart pounding away in his chest. 

He does flinch when someone touches him. He whines and whips his head up, embarrassed by the involuntary sound. Yorak’s in front of him again, one knee on the bed, hunched over Shiro’s prone form. 

He has a glass of water and a bundle of blankets tucked under his arm. Shiro bites his lip harder to hold back another stupid sound. 

“Can you sit up, Shiro?” Yorak asks, his voice kind, soothing. Shiro feels himself relaxing instantly at the sound of Yorak’s voice, the sound of an alpha protecting him, caring for him. 

His thighs quiver and, with some effort, he attempts to sit up. He watches Yorak set down the blankets and reach for him. He cups the back of Shiro’s neck to guide him up, but the contact makes him gasp— his mark pulses heat against Yorak’s palm and it makes him flinch back, scrambling to sit up on his own. 

“Sorry,” Yorak whispers but still holds the glass out. He coaxes Shiro to sip it, one mouthful at a time, until he’s gotten Shiro to swallow all of the water. 

Shiro watches Yorak unfold the blankets, stacking and constructing until he’s created a suitable enough nest. Shiro feels the tension in his shoulders bleed away even as he can’t take his eyes off Yorak, watching his every move. 

Shiro’s mark burns on his neck. He reaches up his hand, hesitantly, and covers it with his palm. Something like relief pulses through him. He feels centered, a fire kindled beneath the mark. He closes his eyes, trying to keep breathing. 

“Shiro,” Yorak coaxes. His voice is so quiet, so soothing. 

Shiro bites back another whimper. “I’m fine.” 

Yorak makes the softest sound. “You’ve always been so stubborn.” 

Shiro’s too fuzzy-headed to make sense of the words. He’s used to people knowing who he is, out in space— either from the arena or from Voltron, he isn’t sure. 

“I… prefer strong-willed,” Shiro manages to grit out, feeling his flush drift down his chest. He blinks his eyes open to find Yorak already looking at him. Shiro glances around, the way he’s stacked the blankets around them— a decent enough nest, given how clinical the castle can feel. Shiro breathes out. 

“Strong-willed, then.” Yorak smiles, his expression softening as he looks at Shiro. It’s completely counter to what Shiro expects from an alpha, especially when sitting before an omega in heat. 

Then again, Shiro can’t remember the last time anyone’s looked at him gently. 

Shiro feels another wave of heat flush through him. It’s hard to focus. As he stares at Yorak, drinks in those soft eyes, that worried smile, on a face he should recognize but _doesn’t_, Shiro can’t fight that quivering need inside him to reach out, to touch. 

He resists, but only barely. He pants, his body shivering, just wanting to be used. 

“Let me take care of you, Shiro,” Yorak murmurs, eyes dark and yet so caring. He crawls up onto the bed, a respectful distance away from Shiro but ready, Shiro’s sure, to pounce on him, to pin him down, to rut into him if he lets him. 

Shiro’s eyes glance down to where he can see Yorak’s cock straining against his pants. Involuntarily, he licks his lips. Slick pools inside him, dripping out. His throat feels so dry despite the water Yorak forced him to drink.

Yorak inhales sharply, groaning as he’s hit with the heat scent. 

Still, he holds himself back. Waiting, Shiro realizes, for him. 

It surprises Shiro. He’s used to overly assertive and dominant alphas. Yorak isn’t what he expected. 

Hesitantly, Shiro reaches out and palms Yorak’s cock through his pants. He’s hard against his hand and gives a little twitch at the contact. Yorak grunts, ducking his head, his hair falling to hide his face, his pointed ears flushing purple-red. 

Shiro whimpers as he pulls back only to yank his tank top off over his head. He feels Yorak’s eyes on him as, quivering, Shiro falls onto his back and lifts his hips, tugging down his soaked sweatpants and throwing them aside. 

Naked before Yorak, Shiro gulps down a shaky breath and stares up at him. Yorak hesitates, though— not deep in any rut, then— before he crawls between Shiro’s legs, hovering above him. 

His body sings for it— be fucked, be mated, be knotted. But it’s not right. He knows it won’t work; it’s never worked before. Shiro can’t deny that certainty. He turns his face away and groans. 

“Shiro—” 

Shiro clenches his eyes shut, his entire body trembling and shaking his head. “No, it’s— Wait. I can’t.”

Yorak shifts above him, pulling back— but that, too, is torture. He’s being abandoned. He’s being left alone, empty. He whimpers and snatches Yorak by the wrist, keeping him there.

Even so, he whispers, “I can’t. I’m bonded.” 

Yorak makes a sound above him as Shiro curls into himself, sweaty and slick and uncomfortable. 

“He didn’t… He didn’t know what he was doing,” Shiro admits in a rush, his free hand lifting to touch his neck. “He didn’t know. But I can’t— it won’t work if it’s any alpha. I’ve been claimed.” 

He’s always known as much, ever since that last day with Keith. It’d been the first and only time they’d ever kissed— too young to bond properly, but still desperate for a connection on the eve of their separation. He still remembers how it felt for Keith to kiss the back of his neck and then bite down, piercing him with a mating mark. 

“It’s— I haven’t been able to handle my heats ever since,” Shiro says, unsure why he’s admitting to something so vulnerable to a near-stranger. 

Shiro hadn’t realized at the time what Keith’s mating mark would mean for all Shiro’s heats thereafter. He was still delirious with love and care for his best friend— wanting some sign that he’d known him, something he could carry with him always. He’d welcomed the mark. 

He never could have guessed that after Keith marked him, he’d never be able to take another alpha. 

Shiro’s never quite regretted it— if he were to be marked, of course it was going to be Keith. It was always going to be Keith. 

Softer, Shiro murmurs, “He didn’t know.”

“He did know,” Yorak answers. 

He says it with such certainty. Shiro turns his head to regard Yorak, frowning. “What?” 

“He knew what it would do,” Yorak says. He’s not looking at Shiro. There’s the little whisper of a fang against his lip as he nibbles nervously. Shiro watches Yorak fidget and then, slowly, close his eyes and push through the words: “I— I didn’t know what it’d _do_, that it’d hurt you, but I… I knew it’d bond us.” 

Shiro blinks at him, trying to process the words. They don’t make sense. Maybe he’s slipped into the heat-sickness faster than he realized. 

But he stares at Yorak again and—

And he knows that grim smile. He knows those eyes. He might be older now, his features more defined, more adult, and he might be a different face entirely— purple and furry, his ears fluffy and pointed. But he knows this man. 

“Keith?” he asks, his voice hushed. 

Keith’s smile turns pained at the edges. “Yeah. Hi, Shiro.” 

“I—” Shiro doesn’t know where to start. He hasn’t seen Keith for years. He never expected to see him again, much less out here. 

“Didn’t recognize me, huh?” 

“No, I—” 

He doesn’t know how to say it, how on a primal level, he knew. He knows as much now— the heat of his body, locking eyes on Yorak. No, Keith. Keith likely triggered a heat, he thinks— seeing him for the first time in years. His bondmate. Of course his body responded to that. 

Now that he knows to look, it’s no mistaking it’s Keith— his eyes, of course, the shape of his face. Even older, he knows beyond a doubt it’s Keith. If purpler. 

A flood of relief rushes through him. He relaxes on the bed instantly, naked and needy, but it doesn’t matter. It’s _Keith._ His bond mark pulses on his neck, recognizing its giver. 

“You found me,” Shiro marvels. 

Keith laughs, his eyes going glassy for a moment before he blinks it away. “I promised, didn’t I?” 

_I’ll find you again,_ he’d told Shiro, once. So long ago now. 

Keith touches Shiro’s chest, just his fingertips pressing against Shiro’s body, above his heart. Shiro bites his lip and doesn’t hold back his whimper this time. 

It’s Keith. He’s never been safer. 

“You’re Galra?” 

“Half-Galra,” Keith corrects with a half-smile. “Remember? I told you I was going far away for a while.” 

“I didn’t realize you meant far away as in _space_,” Shiro protests. “You should have told me.” 

Keith laughs, soft and wet. He strokes Shiro’s chest and it leaves Shiro shaking, letting out that same whimper as before. 

“Mom swore me to secrecy. I’d have… I wanted to tell you. So badly, Shiro.” 

His hand pauses, pressing down against Shiro’s heart. Shiro doesn’t doubt that Keith can feel its pounding beat, the flush of heat through him. He must smell it, thick in the air. Everything about Shiro is singing for Keith— his scent, his slick, his very heart. Now that he recognizes his would-be mate, there’s no stopping the flood of heat through him. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Shiro whispers, wondering. He has so many questions. So many things he needs to know, so many years he needs to fill in. But Shiro can’t put the questions to words: there’s only Keith. There’s only Shiro’s building heat. 

Keith breathes out and pushes Shiro’s hair away from his forehead. The touch is blissful and Shiro sighs, sinking into the bed. He feels safe, protected— Keith is here. Nothing can happen to him. 

“Keith,” Shiro murmurs. It feels good to say the name aloud again. To have him here again. “Keith…” 

“Will you— will you let me help you?” Keith asks, quietly. “Your heat…” 

He’s always wanted to help Shiro. He’s always looked out for Shiro. 

All his life, people have wanted to help him. All his life, Shiro’s been trying to prove that he doesn’t _need_ help. 

His body feels like it’s on fire. He’s burning up. All he can smell is alpha, _his_ alpha, exuding calm, ready to hold him, ready to fuck him. Shiro always hated this loss of control most— how deeply he _needed_, how desire could eclipse everything in his mind. Make him mindless. 

“Oh Keith,” Shiro whispers. His heart feels so full and heavy in his chest. Keith is here. Keith wants to help him. 

Somehow, it isn’t so scary to let himself be like this if it’s Keith. He knows the look on Keith’s face— years and years ago, on a younger face, a more human face, he’d known it all too well. They’d both been so young back then, but even then, Keith’s devotion had been clear. 

Shiro wonders if Keith cried as much as Shiro did, the day after they separated. If, somehow, Keith felt his heart cleave in two, too. 

“Kiss me,” Shiro whimpers and Keith ducks to him immediately. 

Their first kiss was as kids— stupid and fumbly and a little too much teeth. Keith’s similarly enthusiastic now, pressing his mouth firmly to Shiro’s. But Keith softens immediately as soon as he’s close enough, his breath coming out in a little sigh as he slides his lips against Shiro’s. Gentle. Blissful. Comforting. 

Shiro presses his hand down and brushes it over Keith’s cock through his pants. Keith sucks in a sharp, growling breath. Shiro murmurs back to him, kissing him, desperate to have him close. He slides his palm down the length of Keith’s hard cock just to feel it, lets heat and desire pool in his gut. 

He could keep kissing Keith forever. He licks into his mouth, sucking on his bottom lip with the sharp edge of potential. He’s not quite sure if he’s doing it all right, feeling too frayed at the edges, but Keith’s rumbling growl feels promising. 

“You’re too warm,” Keith murmurs when he breaks the kiss, looking concerned. He strokes a hand over Shiro’s forehead and his cheek. “You have a fever.” 

“It’s the heat,” Shiro answers. Keith’s hand is so sure and gentle on his skin. His body feels like it’s burning up just from the desire to be touched. He leans into Keith’s palm, closing his eyes and breathing out in a rush. 

“I should get you more water,” Keith says. “Some food. More blankets. I—” 

“No,” Shiro interrupts. He leans up to kiss Keith again, biting his lip first and then whispering, “Fuck me.” 

Keith gasps. “Shiro.” 

“Come on,” Shiro murmurs, reaching for him. He touches Keith’s chest and sweeps down, tugging on the waistband of his pants. It’s quick work— one flick of his wrist and he’s pulled it down low enough to expose him. Keith’s cock is thick and hard between his legs. Shiro whimpers as he studies it and feels his heat sickness flood through him. 

He pushes Keith back enough to strip him. Keith shrugs out of his shirt and lets Shiro study him. He’s willowy and lean, but Shiro doesn’t doubt his strength. It’s strange to see Keith like this— as handsome as he always imagined he’d be, but different. Still beautiful. So beautiful, it’s almost painful to look at him. 

Shiro likes the way his hands look, pressing against Keith’s chest. He just touches him, tracing one faint scar beneath his clavicle, and marvels at the fact that Keith is here at all. That in the expansive, massive universe— they’re here. Together. Keith found him. 

“Shiro,” Keith says. “How do I—” 

Instead of answering, Shiro rolls onto his stomach. He fists his hands in the pillow and lifts his hips, shameless as he presents himself. He’s open and dripping. Keith will sink right in. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers. 

Keith grunts, one hand touching his ass, sliding down along the cleft and pressing against his hole. Shiro whimpers, thinking of the agony of Keith fingering him open. It’d take too much time. It doesn’t matter— he’s _ready._ He can’t handle it. He starts shivering against Keith’s hand. 

“Just fuck me,” Shiro commands, his body thrumming with that need. He feels himself fall into that headspace, feels himself going primal with that desire. His slick pools down his legs and he spreads them, presents himself, and claws at the bed beneath him. “_Fuck me._” 

“Shiro—” 

“_Alpha,_ Shiro hisses, his vision tunneling. There’s only Keith. He’s all he needs. “_Fuck me._” 

Keith makes a soft sound, strangled and unsure when his hands reach out to cup his hips. Shiro lets out a low whine of agony when he feels Keith’s fingers stroking over his hole. 

Shiro reaches back, fists Keith’s cock, and guides it to press against him. He nudges his hips back and, finally, Keith pushes in. Shiro’s wet and open and Keith sinks right in with a low growl. His hands flex on Shiro’s hips and Shiro whimpers, squirming back to press flushed against Keith. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers. 

It’s blissful to be filled— Keith presses inside him and fits, perfectly. Shiro clenches around him and rocks his hips back. Keith grunts, shuddering, and grips Shiro tight. Now that he’s inside, he doesn’t try to take his time. 

He fucks into Shiro and all Shiro can do is gasp for air as he rocks back. Moving to meet Keith, his entire body bows to his alpha. Slick runs down his thighs and it doesn’t matter. His body feels too hot and it doesn’t matter. Keith’s cock is a thick, hard pulse inside him, stroking into him with deep, uneven strokes. That’s all that matters. All that matters is that they’re connected, that Keith is inside him. Keith is his. 

Shiro claws at his pillow, gasping and moaning, rolling his hips back as he presses flush against Keith, lets Keith’s cock bury into him up to the root. It feels so good. He’s delirious with it— all he can focus on is the feeling of Keith inside him, fucking him. 

And Keith does. He strokes into Shiro, gripping him tight. Shiro whimpers, gasping Keith’s name, encouraging little _yes, yes, yes—_

He can feel Keith’s knot at the base of his cock. Shiro wants to be filled. He wants to be fucked until he can’t breathe. He wants to be full of Keith, plugged up with him. 

“Fuck,” Keith moans above him. “Fuck, Shiro—” 

Again Shiro grabs blindly for Keith, hand settling at Keith’s hip, holding him steady as he fucks himself back against his cock, working him in deeper. He’s panting still, breathless and frenzied, driven by his primal need, a feral sense of fullness he never wants to lose. He can’t speak, although he thinks he tries to moan Keith’s name. 

He feels Keith’s cock pulse inside him, feels Keith grip him tighter. They move in a desperate lurch of their bodies, pressed together— a reunion after so long, but too much desperation between them to take their time. The heat fuels Shiro ever-onward. He needs to be fucked. _He needs to be fucked by Keith._

He sets a brutal pace, rocking his hips back against Keith’s cock, coaxing his alpha to fuck forward into his body. They slam together, only the slap of skin and Keith’s grasping hands to center Shiro. He’s whining, moaning, making far too much noise. If the castle didn’t know what was going on for Shiro, they must know now. And Shiro doesn’t care. There’s only Keith.

And with one final slam of his hips, Keith comes. All Shiro can do is keen. He’s filled with Keith’s come, feels it pulsing through him. He moans weakly as he pushes his hips back and Keith’s knot plugs him up. 

Shiro ducks his head, pressing his face into the pillow and letting out a low whine. They’re locked together now through the knot— he’s not sure how long it’ll take for Keith’s to go down. He whimpers, pathetic and soft, so delighted by the mere idea of being so utterly _filled_. 

His alpha strokes his hands over his hips, soothing him. He traces along his waist, keys his fingers over his ribs, and then drapes himself over Shiro’s broad back. Shiro can bear his weight. Shiro can do anything if it’s for Keith. 

His alpha. Keith. _Keith._

Shiro gasps aloud when Keith’s hand touches his cock. He’d forgotten about himself, forgotten he was even hard, and the touch of another’s hand on him is nearly too much. He gives a low, keening cry as Keith strokes him off with brutal precision. He twists his hand, squeezing at the base and sweeps up again to thumb at the head. 

When Shiro comes it’s with a wail, spilling over into Keith’s waiting hand. Keith uses Shiro’s own come to stroke him off the rest of the way, even once he’s milked Shiro dry. Shiro whimpers at the oversensitivity of it, as Keith strokes him until he goes soft. 

“Keith,” Shiro whines. 

“I’ll suck you off soon, too,” Keith promises. Shiro moans, overwhelmed— all he wants is Keith’s cock. The rest can come later. 

Shiro goes utterly limp when Keith noses at the back of his neck and gently presses his mouth against the bond mark. It flares to life beneath Keith’s lips and Shiro feels that familiar heat flood through him. He keens, and wriggles his hip, feeling the obscene stretch of Keith’s knot against his hole. 

“Keith,” he whines again. 

Keith licks the back of his neck, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against the mark. “Shiro…” 

Shiro closes his eyes, just melting beneath Keith. Keith’s quick to wrap his arms around him, holding him up as Shiro sinks down into the pillow, whimpering happily at the attention. Keith seems to take the hint: he starts nuzzling gently at the back of Shiro’s neck with a low whine. It’s not quite the right angle for Keith to cover all of Shiro’s neck in his scent, but it’s enough to comfort them both, if the way Keith goes boneless and relaxed against Shiro’s back is any indication. His arms stay curled around Shiro, steady and firm. 

“Are you alright?” Keith croaks, voice growly and deep. 

“Mm,” Shiro hums back. Softly, Shiro admits, “I’ve never done this before.” 

He feels Keith’s chest swell— from pride, possessiveness, or protectiveness, Shiro doesn’t know. He knows it’s an instinctual reaction, though: Keith, pleased to know his omega is just _his._ And he is. God, he is. He’s only Keith’s. 

Past the immediate reaction, though, Keith lets out a low breath and he nuzzles at the back of Shiro’s neck again, concerned. There’s something shy in his voice when he answers, “Um. Me neither.” 

“You’ve never had a rut?” Shiro asks, wondering.

Keith shakes his head. “I have. I just. I wanted… you.” Shiro feels the shape of Keith’s frown against his skin and Shiro only feels the quivering desire to soothe, to reassure his alpha. He lets out a low whine and Keith grunts, nosing into Shiro’s hair. “I want to be good for you, Shiro. I want to make you feel better. I want— I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

Shiro’s brain goes fuzzy with the desire to be satisfied, to be satiated, to have Keith just _ take him_, to use him, to fuck him and keep fucking him, if only for some relief. His body’s welcomed Keith inside him, but it’s not enough. He needs to be filled more. He needs to be overfull, spilling over with Keith. 

Not much he can do about it when they’re still knotted together, though. Still, Shiro goes even slicker thinking about Keith fucking into him again and again, fucking him until it’s _too much_, thinking about Keith filling him with come more and more, until it’s leaking out of him. 

He squirms with a low keen. Keith lets out a soothing little chuff and kisses the long column of his neck. He presses a biting kiss to Shiro’s shoulder. 

“You’ve really… never?” Keith asks. 

Shiro shakes his head. “I… I was waiting for you, Keith.” 

Keith groans, his breath hitching. “Shiro,” he whispers, voice thick. “I should have— if it’s our first time, I should have—” 

Shiro grabs Keith’s hand, slick still with his come, and tugs it up. He sucks two of Keith’s fingers into his mouth, tasting him. It’s a strange taste, but a pleasant one— it’s Keith on his tongue, tanged with Shiro’s own taste. It’s both their scents mixed together. Shiro moans and suckles on Keith’s fingers. 

Keith groans, too, weakly, mouthing at Shiro’s neck— relaxing against him. Reassured by the touch of Shiro’s lips and tongues against his skin. 

Slowly, though, in time, Keith’s knot starts to deflate. Though Keith’s cock is soft inside now, but Shiro’s thankful he has the sense enough not to pull out. If he did, Shiro’s not sure if he could handle how empty he’d feel. He shudders, unable to bite back a soft sound. 

“Shiro,” Keith whispers above him. 

It takes Shiro a moment, but he blinks his vision clear and turns his head, looking at Keith over his shoulder. He studies him, drinking in the changes in his face— how similar he seems despite all those differences. Still the same Keith he’s always known, the same Keith he’s been missing for years. 

He has to think he must look different to Keith, too. Older, yes. But tired, too. More scarred than before. He wonders if Keith thinks he’s handsome, too. 

“Keith,” he croaks, his body still too warm, everything so close on the edge of losing all control. 

He knows he’s going to slip into mindlessness soon, that the only thing that’s going to help him is an alpha’s cock— _his_ alpha’s cock. 

“I… I need—” 

“What do you need, Shiro?” Keith prompts, voice soothing. He’s not being overly aggressive, only a whisper of possessiveness in the way he runs his hands over him. Soothing and protective. 

“More,” Shiro begs, lifting onto his elbows and shoving his hips back, rocking his body against Keith. He squeezes around Keith’s limp cock, to try to coax it into plumping up inside him. He bites his lip, focusing, squeezing around him. “Keith,” he whimpers. “Keith, please. Give me more.” 

Keith grunts and drapes against him, wriggling his hips. His hands press flat against Shiro’s chest, holding him tight. He bites his shoulder, more for the grounding sensation than to leave a mark. 

“I’ve got you, Shiro,” Keith promises. 

Shiro breathes out shakily and whimpers. But, he trusts Keith. Of course he does. And he knows that Keith’s the only one who could take care of him. 

Keith rolls his hips in slow little bursts, mindful not to slip out of Shiro. As he moves, Shiro feels his cock start to stiffen inside of him and it makes him sigh, pleased, squeezing around the cock, its path wet and open with slick and come. 

“Let me take care of you,” Keith murmurs. 

The first orgasm took the edge off, at least. He feels a little less frenzied, even as Keith starts to pump carefully into him, his movements slow and luxurious. Keith’s hands on him are soft, worshipful, and for one brief second, all Shiro wants to do is cry. 

“You do,” Shiro murmurs. “Don’t you always?” 

His heart feels too full. It’s been so long since he’s seen Keith. His childhood best friend— his first and only love. Here, again. Holding him up. Fucking into him. His hair tickles the back of Shiro’s neck as he ducks over Shiro, working himself into him. His hands are so gentle but so sure against Shiro’s skin. 

“Yeah, Shiro,” Keith vows. “I’m— I’ll make it good for you.” 

Shiro smiles to himself, overwhelmed, as Keith starts to fuck into him again, rolling his hips. His thrusts are precise, striking Shiro deep inside him. It feels good, too good. Shiro gasps, shivering full-bodied as he claws at the nest around him. 

“Keith,” he whines. “Faster.”

Keith speeds up, but only barely. He rocks into Shiro’s open body, running his hands over him. 

“Keith,” Shiro begs. 

But Keith stays methodical. He keeps shifting his hips, keeps rocking inside Shiro, seeking out his prostate. 

“_Alpha_,” Shiro sobs, a last-ditch effort. 

This gets a reaction from Keith, at least. He grunts and fucks hard into Shiro in a few jerky thrusts. It makes Shiro keen happily, back arching. 

Keith grunts, pushing Shiro back down again. He grips Shiro’s wrists, pinning them up above his head so Shiro’s chest-down against the bed, ass in the air and locked around Keith’s cock. 

“Alpha,” Shiro says again, coaxing, rocking his hips back to meet Keith’s thrusts. Keith’s cockhead strikes his prostate and it makes Shiro gasp, wet and open-mouthed, body shuddering. “Fuck!” 

Keith lets out a low whimper, his hand finding Shiro’s cock and stroking him in time to his thrusts. It’s two points of overwhelming contact and, heat-sick and bleary-eyed, it takes only a few light strokes of Keith’s hand before Shiro’s coming again. 

He ducks his head, mouth open around a low moan as he fucks into the circle of Keith’s hand. 

Keith barely gives him a chance to recover, one hand still cupping his hip and sliding his cock gently into his hole. Shiro whimpers and clenches around him, coaxing him in deeper. His body feels so wet and so open to Keith, so stretched and raw. He rocks his hips back. 

“Your… I need—” 

“Shiro,” Keith soothes, encouraging. 

“Your fingers, too,” Shiro begs. “Stretch me wide, Keith.” 

Keith swears softly, losing his pace, but is quick to obey Shiro. His fingers prod at Shiro’s hole, dragging along the rim. He pauses in his thrusts and gently presses two fingers inside Shiro alongside his cock. Shiro’s wet enough that the movement is a gentle glide, burying inside him. 

The stretch is obscene and Shiro bites his lip around a wide smile. He gives an encouraging moan and arches his back. 

“_Keith_,” he sighs, blissful, tilting his head back to look at Keith. 

Keith smiles at him, wondering, and hooks his free arm around Shiro, pulling him upright so they’re pressed together, back to chest. Shiro sighs softly, tilts his chin, and Keith obeys the silent plea, leaning in to kiss Shiro sweetly. 

Shiro sinks against Keith, kissing him back. The angle’s off for Keith to keep fucking into him, but the stretch of his cock and fingers inside him is perfect enough. He can feel his slick dripping out of him, leaving Keith’s cock and hand a mess, but Keith hardly seems to mind, sucking on Shiro’s bottom lip with a pleased little hum. 

“Shiro,” Keith whispers when they part. 

“I need more,” Shiro tells him. His body is burning out around his heat and he needs _more_. He can’t get enough of Keith. There’s never enough. 

He should be too heavy, leaning so fully on Keith, but Keith holds him effortlessly. He’s so strong, so capable. His alpha. 

Shiro lets out a low sigh of satisfaction as Keith knock his legs between Shiro’s, spreading him wide across his lap. He drapes Shiro back fully against him and, slowly, starts rocking his hips up into him. Shiro whimpers happily, using his thighs to lift himself up and drop back down onto Keith’s cock. 

He rides Keith like that, milking his cock, pushing him in deeper. Keith thrusts his fingers into him in turn until he lets them draw back in favor of fucking into him in earnest, gripping his hips and slamming him back down. 

Shiro moans as he feels Keith’s cock swell inside him. When Keith knots him again, flooding him with the warmth of his come, Shiro can only collapse back against Keith with a delighted sigh, writhing against him, squirming down until he’s pressed flush against Keith. 

“You’re so good,” Shiro sighs, slumped against him. 

Keith holds him easily, running his hands gently over his stomach, soothing him. He nuzzles against his neck and shoulder, kissing and nipping over his skin. With the right angle, now, he scents at Shiro’s neck, rubbing and licking at his scent-glands. Shiro slumps, baring his neck further and sighing out Keith’s name. 

He closes his eyes, feeling the swell of his heat inside him as they wait for the knot to go down again. Shiro doesn’t mind this moment, where Keith’s still against him, his mouth soft and his breath pressing against Shiro’s back. Keith is all around him. He smells like him. He bears his mark. 

His alpha. His again. 

“Did you know I was here?” Shiro asks. 

Keith goes still for a moment, his smile fading. He draws back to look at Shiro. 

Shiro turns his head, regarding him, his eyes tender. He lifts his hand, cupping the back of Keith’s head to keep him there, his fingers tangling up in his soft, black hair. So beautiful. His alpha is so beautiful. 

“I heard rumors,” Keith admits. “I… The arena—” 

Shiro nods, throat closing up. He presses a kiss to the corner of Keith’s lips. 

“I wanted to save you,” Keith insists, eyes large and a little glassy. “I wanted— I wanted to find you. I’ve wanted to find you for so long, Shiro.” 

“You did,” Shiro assures him, scratching his blunt nails through Keith’s hair, massaging his scalp until he draws a low whimper from Keith’s throat. “You found me, Keith. You found me.” 

Heat coils up in his chest. 

“You found me,” Shiro whispers, his voice going softer still. He rolls his hips down, keening as he feels the swell of his knot. “Alpha,” he whispers. “Alpha, I need you.” 

“Shiro, my knot…” Keith protests. 

But Shiro feels himself slipping into the heat madness. He’s safe now. He’s protected. He can sink into it and knows he’ll be okay. His alpha is here to make him feel good. To fuck him. To knot him. To breed him. His alpha. Keith. 

He can’t think of anything else— his world narrows in on one thing: Keith. Keith is here. 

_Keith._

“Alpha,” Shiro whimpers, pressing his face into Keith’s neck and inhaling his scent. Comfort lances through him, relaxed and sated. He’s filled. He’s surrounded. 

Keith nuzzles into his hair, mouth pressing a simple kiss to Shiro’s temple. 

Shiro gives a little cry when he feels Keith’s knot go down. Keith rubs his hands over his sides and hips and down over his thighs, kneading into his sore, tense muscles. 

“Let me get you some water,” Keith says. 

He draws back, just a little, just enough that his cock slips out from inside Shiro. 

Shiro gives a low whine, twisting around and reaching for Keith blindly, mindlessly. 

“No.” 

“Shhh,” Keith soothes, running his hands over him as Shiro trembles. “Shiro, I’m here.” 

Shiro’s too far gone to feel embarrassment at his neediness. All he needs is Keith. He crawls into Keith’s space, cupping his face and kissing him. Keith grunts and then sighs, kissing him back sweetly. 

“Okay,” Keith whispers, pushing on Shiro’s shoulders. “Okay, babe. I’ve got you.” 

Shiro lets out a low whine as he’s pushed back, grasping tightly to Keith to keep him close. Keith lets out a low breath, smiling, and keeps guiding Shiro down until he’s lying on his back. Keith crawls after him, hovering above him. He strokes his hands over Shiro, calming. 

“See? Here I am,” Keith tells him.

Shiro lets out a little sound, wordless, grasping at Keith’s shoulders. 

“Yeah,” Keith tells him, a low, comforting murmur. “Yeah, I’m here. I’ve got you. I found you.” 

Shiro nods. He did. Keith did. He did. 

Keith strokes his hand down Shiro’s arm, from wrist to elbow to shoulder. His touch is gentle. Shiro closes his eyes, inhaling his lingering scent. He spreads his legs, slick and wet and ready for Keith. He can feel some of his come slipping out of him and he can’t stand the loss of it. 

“Fuck, you’re really in it now, aren’t you?” Keith marvels, his eyes wide when Shiro opens his eyes to gaze up at him. 

And he is. He is. There’s only the heat. There’s only the desire to fuck. To be filled. To be Keith’s. 

Shiro whimpers. 

“Shiro,” Keith murmurs, gently, stroking his hips. “Wow. Okay. Yeah… wow. You’re really—” He swallows, face flushed. “Shiro… You’re so beautiful. I can’t believe you’re mine.” 

“Yours,” Shiro whispers, parroting. He spreads his legs wider. “Alpha.” 

If his mind weren’t so hazy, he could say more. He could tell Keith how beautiful he is, too. How much he needs him. Wants him. Loves him. 

How he still remembers sprawling out in his dad’s backyard, staring up at the sky with Keith and pretending to be space explorers together. How never in a million years, he’d guess they’d be like this, in space, together, mating. It feels so long ago now since they were childhood friends playing in the dirt together. 

Shiro loops his legs around Keith’s hips, heels pressing into the small of his back, trying to coax him closer. His thighs flex and tighten, unwilling to let go. 

“Keith,” Shiro whimpers. 

“I’m here.” Keith presses a light kiss to Shiro’s brow. He wriggles closer, rocking his hips so his cock starts to fatten against Shiro’s. Shiro keens low in his throat, rolling his hips to meet his. He keeps moving, focused on helping his alpha: make him feel good, make him hard, make him fuck. 

Shiro feels filthy, a mixture of his slick and Keith’s come dripping down his thighs, leaking out of him. Keith starts shifting his hips experimentally, letting his cock drag against Shiro’s body, exploring him. It’s blissful torture. Shiro is on fire. 

Shiro can’t bite back the mindless whimper when Keith starts playing with Shiro’s hole, smearing his cock through the mess dripping out of him. He doesn’t penetrate, gripping his cock in his hand as he toys with Shiro’s hole— pressing close and backing off again, swirling against the rim in a messy circle. He’s playing with what’s his and Shiro can do nothing but arch into the touch. 

“Keith,” he says, moaning when Keith drags his cockhead against his hole, dipping in and then pulling away immediately, his cock dripping with his come and Shiro’s slick. 

He does it again, pulling at Shiro’s rim with his cockhead. Shiro gives a low, pathetic wail and arches his back. He pulls his knees up higher, exposing himself, shameless in his display. The full length of Keith’s cock drags against the exposed line of his body, slipping through his slick, but still not giving Shiro what he desperately wants. 

He’s trembling, fingers clawing at the ruined sheets beneath him. He’s not even fully aware of what he’s doing, what he’s saying— he shoves his hips up, trying to coax and entice his alpha to shove his cock inside him once more, to rut him, to breed him, to just keep fucking him. 

He’s never felt like this before.

He never even realized he could feel like this. 

“You want me?” Keith asks, eyes so dark, almost teasing. His hand is soothing against Shiro’s hip, petting him in a gentle swipe of his palm. Always taking care of him. Always making him feel good. 

Shiro’s beyond language now. He can only bite his lip and stare up at Keith, sliding his hips down in tiny little rolls, trying to entice his alpha to _just fuck him already._

Keith lets out a little breath, his eyes dark as he looks down at him. “Shiro. Can’t believe how wet you are.”

When Keith enters him for the third time, Shiro can only sigh out, body arching, seeking his mate. Keith holds him close, pressing down against him until they’re chest to chest. The angle’s different, but still good. Keith thrusts into him, unhurried and sweet. 

Shiro’s too lost in the heat to appreciate it. He just gives little cries, clawing at Keith, dragging him in closer and kissing him sloppily. 

It’s good. It’s all so good. 

Shiro cries out when Keith knots him again, locked against him, flooding his body with warmth. He keeps his legs wrapped tight around Keith, keeping him close. The world might continue on without them, but nothing beyond this room matters— Keith is in his arms. Keith is holding him. Keith is fucking him.

Keith’s come further slicks him up, fills him so completely that it starts to spill out. Shiro is a mess beneath Keith, but he’s still open and full. It’s the only thing he needs. 

Keith hovers above him once Shiro catches his breath. The knot’s still thick inside him, plugging him up. It’s just as well— he doesn’t want to lose anymore of Keith’s come. He wants it to stay inside him forever. 

He blinks sleepily up at Keith, who studies his face closely. Shiro can’t manage anything other than a wobbly smile. 

It prompts a smile from Keith, as well— relief and desire and that same, sweet way Keith’s always looked at him. Shiro’s heart feels so full. 

“Hi, Shiro,” Keith whispers, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “How are you feeling?” 

Shiro can’t answer the question, too gone in his pleasure, but he does smile even wider up at Keith and moves to kiss him, rocking his hips so his cock drags against Keith’s firm stomach. He comes between them, sticky and sweaty, with a low cry of Keith’s name. 

Keith hushes him, kissing him slow and sweet, his hand catching around Shiro’s cock and milking him dry again. Shiro keeps beaming through it, blissed out, his eyes going dark as he watches Keith lick his hand clean, tasting every inch of Shiro’s come across his fingertips. 

“Rest,” Keith murmurs, his voice a low, commanding growl. And Shiro can only ever obey him. 

-

Shiro blinks his eyes open, coming back to himself. He must have passed out at some point. He’s still naked and still feeling a little sticky, but he’s tucked beneath a blanket and he thinks his body’s been wiped down. There’s a big glass of water beside his bed. 

But fear seizes him, turning his scent sour. He’s alone. “Keith—” 

Keith’s response is instant. He steps out from the side bathroom, carrying a wet cloth. He hurries to Shiro’s side instantly, climbing back into bed and spooning him. He makes quick work to curl his body around Shiro, throwing his leg over Shiro’s, his arm hooking around his chest. He clings like a limpet, and it’s the most comforting feeling in the world. 

“Shh,” Keith soothes, voice impossibly gentle. “I’m here, Shiro.”

Shiro closes his eyes and inhales sharply, filling his nose with the pleasant, sweet scent of his alpha— there, with him. Never gone again. Keith wraps his arms around him and kisses the mark on the back of his neck.

“I’m here, Shiro. I’m here.” 

“Keith,” Shiro sighs, slumping back against him. Keith takes his time nuzzling and licking over his neck, nosing in his hair. 

“Your fever broke,” Keith tells him, stroking his hand over his stomach. “How long do your heats usually last?” 

Shiro shakes his head. “I’m not sure. I don’t… I haven’t had one in a long time.” 

Keith drags the flat of his tongue over the bond mark and then draws back to plant a light kiss along the line of Shiro’s jaw. It’s infinitely comforting. Shiro gives an appreciative murmur and slumps back against Keith. 

“How long did I sleep?” 

“Few hours,” Keith answers. 

“I feel sore.” 

“You needed me to fuck you a few times,” Keith answers, laughing, cheeks turning a pretty shade of plum. 

Shiro squirms and twists around so he’s facing Keith. He lifts his hand, cupping Keith’s face, his thumb dragging along his cheekbone. 

“Keith,” Shiro murmurs, just for the sake of saying it, for studying him now that he can properly, fully appreciate him. 

“I, um,” Keith mumbles, peering at him. “Was it okay? Are you okay? I’m— I wanted—” 

Shiro tips forward quickly, slanting his mouth against Keith’s. He kisses him slow, deep, and needy. He steals Keith’s breath and leaves him panting once he draws back again, pressing his forehead to Keith’s, smiling helplessly. 

“Baby,” he whispers, “You’re really here.” 

Keith hiccups, eyes going shiny. “_You’re_ here.” 

“Yeah,” Shiro laughs, feeling squirmy and overwarm. His heat isn’t fully gone yet, only sated for the time being. He’ll need to ride Keith again before this is all over— which is just as well. He’s still full of Keith, but there’s always room for more. He doesn’t want to leave this room until he smells entirely like him.

Keith touches him gently, stroking his cheek, his lips, his neck. He smiles helplessly, staring into Shiro’s eyes. 

Shiro smiles back, trembling. He nudges at Keith’s hips with his leg until Keith sprawls out on his back, blinking up at him. Shiro hooks his leg over him and swings his body up, straddling him. Keith is soft against him, but Shiro starts nudging down against him, coaxing him to hardness. 

He must look a sight— flushed and feverish, naked and slicked and ready for his mate. He runs his hands over Keith’s chest, petting him. Keith’s hands, shaking and wondering, reach up to cup Shiro’s waist, his touch worshipful. He feels Keith’s cock stir against his ass as he nudges back in little hip sways. 

“I’m never leaving you again,” Keith breathes, eyes bright as he gazes up at him. “Never, Shiro.” 

Shiro laughs, his own voice sounding far too watery to his ears. He reaches back, stroking Keith’s cock and pressing it against his hole before sinking down onto it with a sigh, welcoming Keith back into his body. 

“You’ll take care of me, won’t you, Keith?” 

He starts to move against Keith, bouncing himself on Keith’s cock. He rides him, letting Keith swell inside him, filling him once again. Shiro sighs through the stretch. Keith, everywhere around him. Keith, his entire universe. 

Keith smiles up at him, and he’s the most beautiful thing he’s seen in this entire universe. Shiro has spent hours on the observation deck, staring at the wonders of the cosmic sky and thinking nothing could ever be more amazing. He remembers thinking the same thing of the night sky.

But, no. It was always going to be Keith. Always. 

And Keith beams up at him and starts rocking his body up, meeting Shiro in his movements. 

“Yeah, Shiro,” he vows. “Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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